


Our Private War

by the_drift



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Father/Son Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 08:58:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/924411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_drift/pseuds/the_drift
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuck goes through his teenage and young adult years keeping his thoughts, his strange love for his father hidden somewhere so deep he thinks it can never be uncovered. How much that had consumed him and how much he really needed his father is something he won't understand, or at least refuse to acknowledge until one late night when, for a moment, he thinks he is invincible in the face of consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Private War

Hercules. 

Chuck did not remember his grandparents well, they died when he was very young and sometimes he wondered which one of them had the audacity to name their son Hercules. If it was well-wishing for their son to become a hero or if it had behind it some interesting (perhaps funny) story. He had wanted to ask when he was younger but him and his father had hardly been close enough for family talk in the past years. Or any talk that was non-military. 

Some joked, Chuck knew, that his attitude towards the world and his father was caused by him having witnessed the act of his conception during the Drift. It wasn't that he didn't - you hardly had a say in what you saw and what you didn't but it was that he had felt a sudden rush of jealousy rushing through his veins when he did. And it took Chuck everything he had in him to gather the courage to drift with his father again. It wasn't because of the uncomfortable memories but because, after almost a year away in training to become a Pilot, time in which he had hardly seen anyone at all, save for the other rookies, he had come back face to face with a man who resembled a man he once knew but was not exactly the same.  
Chuck still remembered the day when he came back from training, still green behind the ears and merely 17, proud and on a metaphorical high horse, to tell his father that he had passed the tests and that he was this close to become a Jaeger Pilot as well; he remembered walking in the house, Max jumping all around him and licking his hands when he tried to pet him and then rushed steps across the room because he had not told his father he was coming, he wanted to surprise him. Who he saw at the end of the hallway was someone who resembled his father but at the same time someone different too. One year of short discussions via phone and bad video connections did not prepare Chuck to face a father who seemed much older and much stronger than he remembered. He remembered the broad shoulders and the strong jaw and most of all what he would always associate his father with: eyes that seemed sometimes blue, other times as grey as the sky before a storm. But he did not remember any of it making him feel like he did in that moment. Hercules Hansen had stepped at the end of the hallway in a white t-shirt and a pair of jeans Chuck could remember him having since forever, looking like a man Chuck could have fallen in love with - which he did. 

He didn't manage to sleep that night. 

And he hated himself so much for thinking about the man in the other room in less than decent terms. 

And ever since that day it had become just bad blood for them, mostly because of Chuck and he knew it well, he was aware of what he was doing and even if he didn't meant it, it didn't mean the words didn't roll off his tongue as easily as beer slipped in on a Friday night on leave from the base. He became harsh, too abrasive to entertain relationships and at the same time he resented himself for doing that but he couldn't stop. It was a cycle that went on and on, him hating himself for entertaining less than decent thoughts about his own father, hating his father just because and hating everyone else for living in a world where he could not yell out loud what was actually wrong with him and hating his father again for not giving him what he needed and hating himself full cycle for entertaining that thought.   
Months and years passed and it all became worse and though he had braved it out, he had not felt so weak in the knees, so sick and afraid as when he first drifted with his father. He pushed back everything but it was only when he was in the drift that he realized there was no way out, that your co-pilot could not hide and neither could you and that scared him so much he had a panic attack and threw up for minutes in a row afterwards.   
His father had held his hair out of his face in the bathroom stall, wiping his mouth with paper towels, telling him it was going to be alright and Chuck wanted to yell at him to get out, get out and leave him alone but each time he opened his mouth, he just dry heaved into the toilet. His father did not seem to know anything of his son's thoughts concerning his person and Chuck actually prided himself for being able to hold that back from him in the drift but he threw up again and his father was right there above him, pulling his head away, wiping his mouth and squeezing his shoulder, telling him everything is alright and that it happens 'to the best of them' on their first go. It was the last night Chuck had allowed his father to nurse him back to health like he sometimes used to when he was a child, before piloting a Jaeger had become his number one priority. And in that entire time, Chuck had looked at him with hazy eyes calling him an 'old man' while his body was begging to be touched again, a re-assuring squeeze on the shoulder, a hand on his forehead. A 'you'll be in perfect shape by tomorrow'. A smile.  
When his father smiled, Chuck could tell if it was real or not judging by his eyes, because if he was really meaning it, his father smiled with his eyes too. 

Somewhere along the way though, Chuck had forgotten to pay attention to those details, angry at himself, at the Kaiju, at his father, at the entire world, for no good reason aside from the words he could not say. Somewhere in between he'd become bitter and furious, feeding off the bad blood he had made happen between him and his father, and each time the old man tried to put him in his place, it made it worse. Because sometimes he did it just to feel his arms around him, pushing him back, bringing his stubborn self back into submission and each time Chuck was angry at himself and by definition, at his father, for that, and he only became worse and worse. As the years passed and Chuck turned from teenager into a grown man, his father faded into the background during each interview and he took in all the spotlight feeding off it superficially, thinking it was enough, but it never was. Nothing was ever enough. And he thought that by beating the old man at his own game and always coming out as the top one in everything he was doing, would have made a difference. People thought he was trying to prove himself in front of his father and Chuck thought that perhaps he was, in way, trying to prove his superiority and through that, smother down his uncalled for desires, because each time he looked at his father when the man was not aware of it, Chuck's entire body was an entire array of 'I want. I want'.

And that made him angry and by default, angry at his father.

Hercules took a step back and let his son have it, the spotlight, the attention. Equaled by the lack of it that he was starting to give to Chuck. They became estranged and strained. On a good day, Hercules ignored Chuck, on bad days, he hit him, either with his hands, either with well placed words. And it hurt every time and Chuck knew he deserved it but he still acted like he didn't. Hercules chose to share his lunch time with the mechanics crew rather than with his son more than once, only coming around when he felt bad about it all but Chuck threw some comment at him that, it looked to him, made his father re-think his decision.  
But fathers are like that sometimes: they always come back, hoping for change. Hoping you've 'grown up' a little. Chuck proved to him he didn't and the only thing he had was resentment and it really was and it was not even his father's fault.

People said, as Hercules also thought, that Chuck had never forgiven him for choosing him over his mother but, horrible as it sounded, Chuck felt some love but also a dangerous amount of jealousy at the woman who laid with his father and who raised him as a child. The stronger those feelings had become, the worse Chuck felt about himself and he took it out on everyone else because he didn't know how to do otherwise. He was aware he was doing it and said he was going to stop. Tomorrow.  
He was always going to stop tomorrow. And tomorrow, and tomorrow...

The only times when they managed to share a good joke nowadays was when they were drinking in a bar, like the night before. Mechanics and technicians from the military base just outside Sydney had gathered around the two of them that evening, for a talk, exchanging opinions, advice, thoughts on the rugby game last week and 'just a quick drink' had turned into five hours of drinks. Not that it was something new, both of them could hold their drinks and the rest of the crew even more so and it was not like Chuck had not seen his father drunk before, or viceversa. It wasn't like they had not carried each other back home before.   
That night, Chuck didn't remember what they were bickering about, they were tripping on their own footsteps on the sidewalk, three blocks away from the bar, arguing about something. It wasn't something important but it didn't mean they didn't throw the random on the low insult at each other, when Hercules had to stop for a moment.  
"The world's spinning, old man, not like it didn't happen before." Chuck remembered saying, looking over his shoulder at his father. Through the haze of the alcohol and the dim street lights, he saw his father sitting down on the stairs of the building nearest to him and he smirked, ready to throw a comment at him about his old age or something like that but when he saw him put his head in his hands, he held it back and went to him instead, albeit, stammering his way to the man, somehow managing to crouch down to his father's level without falling to this side or the other.   
"Don't give me that look, I'm fine." Hercules said, meeting eyes with his son.   
"I know, but that doesn't mean I can't check to make sure." Chuck replied and he patted his father's shoulder, his hand resting there though. These were the few moments when he could lay down touches on his father without being awkward. Not because the alcohol made it easier but because he knew his father wouldn't remember much, if any of it. Chuck had grown accustomed to the drinking and he knew how many beers it took for Hercules to remember an insult, a discussion, a badly placed memento of days gone past. He knew when his father would remember things and when he would not and it made no difference if his speech was coherent or not.   
He was not sure if his father meant to say 'you condescending stupid little shit' but the light smack he got on the back of his neck from Hercules seemed to mean that. Chuck tried to dodge it but only halfheartedy did so because it was in those moment of drunken euphoria that they seemed like father and son, when everything seemed alright. It was an illusion but Chuck entertained it because it was the only thing he had left. And he knew he was going to be angry at himself for it in the morning but morning was still a few hours away so there was no point in dwelling on that and he didn't like to live in the past or hope for the future, so the now would always do for him, especially when he was drunk and especially when his father was even more drunk than he was.   
"I trust you can walk home, right?" Chuck laughed for no good reason, looking at his father. Without realizing to, or perhaps with an unconscious bout of confidence, Chuck placed his hands on his father's face, feeling it rough, abrasive, due to the ever present 5 o'clock shade on his jaw. The street was spinning a little and Chuck knew he shouldn't have had that one more beer he knew was not going to make their return home any easier. Not because he couldn't walk straight, neither could Hercules, but because he was crouched to the ground in front of his father and the only things he could think of was how beautiful his eyes were, how handsome his face was, how his broad shoulders and arms emanated nothing but strength, making Chuck more aware of his need to be protected by them. These were the moments when the bad blood between them faded away in between the alcohol streams, the sweat and his father's cologne - he could still smell it as he got closer, the same musky scent that had accompanied the man ever since Chuck could rememer. A smile this time, not a smack behind the head. Of course he could walk himsef home, somehow, he was a Jaeger Pilot. Chuck laughed at him too, a little, an almost imperceptible laugh: funny how these were the only moments they could bond over, when Hercules was dead drunk and Chuck couldn't walk straight. What did that say about them two of them?  
Chuck tried to pull Hercules up by grabbing him by the arms but the man fell limp back into his place on the stairs again.   
"I'm going to tell.... evey..." Chuck bit his tongue, losing his English for a moment "...everyone about how Hercules Hansen can't get himself up after five beers anymore."  
"More life fifty." his father corrected him and Chuck had an idea that might just be the right number. Without noticing, his fingers had clenched over his father's upper arms and he only released them a little when Hercules looked at his left arm before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath again. And in all that time, Chuck was staring at him wide and hazy-eyed, feeling like he was 17 again when he saw his father, as if it were the first time, at the end of the hallway of their apartment.   
You know when the alcohol gives you just the right push into the direction you didn't want to go because it was not alright by everyone else's standards and expectations but it was exactly what you wanted? That's how Chuck felt in that moment. Almost invincible, just a little, because he knew his father would not remember anything from the past two hours, not after drinking about much as he did and slurring his words like that. Chuck leaned in closer, meeting his father's dark grey eyes and in the span of a few short moments he remembered asking himself the same questions for years, the why's and the how's of someone defying the natural laws imposed on them by genetics alone. Chuck knew it was the alcohol the reason why his hands kept on rubbing his father's upper arms like they did - in that soothing way Hercules did when Chuck was a kid and he was sick or cold. He inched in closer while his father was rubbing the bridge of his nose and when the old man looked up, Chuck was just an inch away from his face. He knew it was the alcohol that gave him the go but where exactly alcohol and sheer madness collided, he wasn't sure, all Chuck knew was that at some point his lips touched his father's, feeling the roughness of his beard on his own freshly shaved face. Hercules became suddenly stiff, Chuck felt it in those arms he was clinging on to. At some point after that, his tongue slid through the other man's lips and he made him open his mouth on command and a second later, his father's fingers clenched onto Chuck's arms real tight, digging deep into his skin, down to the point of pain and Chuck felt, so he thought, his father shiver for a second there, just as he was getting used to the warmth of his mouth and touching his tongue with his own, before he was pushed back, his father's right hand clenched on his jawline, squeezing for a moment before pushing his face away from his own.  
Chuck found himself stumbling backwards before his father punched him straight out in the face.

And he knew, he knew he deserved it. 

Chuck looked up after landing flat on his back to his father, who had gotten up, looking like a titan through the haze of the alcohol, shadows deepening under his chin and on the sides of his face thanks to the orange neon light by the sidewalk. Chuck was still too drunk to feel regret, all he felt was the impulse to get up and hit back, but, one of the few occasions in his life, he actually held it in and looked up at the man towering above him and his glare was piercing and aware. Chuck had his money on Hercules being too drunk to remember a single thing and he didn't know how far that equation had gotten him this time.   
But his father didn't say a single thing, just stared him down for a few moment before turning and walking away as fast as he could, his right hand still clenched in a fist. Chuck leaned in his arms and watched him disappear a street away, blending in the shadows until he became one, and he kept on staring a long time after, staring into nothing, the shock of the punch slowly bringing him back to reality and suddenly he felt sick to his stomach and full of regret. And anger.

Towards whom, he didn't know. 

He put his hands on his face, wanting to yell that he was sorry, wanting to yell that he was not. Then he looked around at the empty street in the midst of the alcohol induced haze he was still very much aware of, almost like floating, that specific haze that makes your thoughts drift here and there, makes every happy thing seem even better and your sorrows worse. Chuck knew that once that haze would disappear, which would be soon, he would feel worse than he had ever felt and he had to find a way to brave it out with poker faced indifference as he did with everything else but he was not so sure this time he was going to be able to carry the weight of his actions. Fights and insults, he could, but not this one, this one was on him and there were only so many things his father was going to forgive him and this was not one of them.   
Where was he supposed to go now? Sooner or later he had to come back and face him, the man he had always tried to make submit to his will and his pretentious demands, making himself believe that same man, his father, was still not larger than life in his eyes. 

Chuck got up from the sidewalk and stood on the stair his father had a few moments before and put his head in his hands, feeling suddenly disoriented, weak and angry at himself. 

 

_

 

When Chuck finally found the courage to step inside the apartment, he had imagined himself to have gone back to the bar and been more drunk, but instead he had stood on the stair for a long time until he barely felt drunk anymore. He was more awake than he would have liked to be, but he didn't know where else to go, as even the main streets had cleared away of cars and people. He had wandered aimlessly for a while, replaying the events of the nights that had ultimately led to Hercules' punch in his face. It hurt him now, he had started to feel it past an hour ago but that was not the greatest of his current pains, he was more cowered by shame and fear. What was fear, to a Jaeger pilot? It was your father, never looking him in the eye ever again and even if Chuck would, with that defying nature of his, he was aware Hercules could stare him down with just a glance if he wanted because this was worse than anything else he had done before, the fights he got into, the way he rudely talked back to him when he was angry, the accusations he threw in his direction as a teenager. It really was the worse he had done and he couldn't take this one back. And how was this his fault, he asked himself angrily as he opened the door into the dark hallway, when he himself didn't know how it happened?   
He was 17 years old when his father had appeared at the end of that same hallway, like a man he had not quite ever seen before but who was familiar to him. It wasn't Chuck's choice, he had felt his heart in his throat and his stomach tightening in knots and the only thing he saw nights afterward when he put his hand down his pants under the safety of his blanket was his father's body as he had seen it, free to look whenever he pleased. He had pretended to be sick for a while later on, just to bask in the attention of his hands and undivided attention. When Hercules was not there, he had cuddled with a baby Max by his pillow, where his father's strong cologne still lingered. That's how he liked to fall asleep best during that time.  
Each time, wallowed in guilt and shame. 

Nobody knew in all these years that was Chuck's darkness - that guilt and shame that he had kept to himself. 

Chuck cursed as he dropped his keys and he patted the floor for them as Max came along to see what was going on. He didn't bark because he knew who it was. Chuck gave the dog an awkward pat before resuming his search and Max left indifferent to his master's tragedy as Chuck stumbled his way back to the door with the stray keys back into posession. He might or might not have locked the door, he wasn't thinking about it, he just dropped the keys in his jacket's pocket or somewhere in that area and went into the kitchen to drink some water.  
He remembered he was supposed to drink water moments later, when the sink was running with cold water for a while and he was holding an empty glass in his hand, leaning into the counter. That was also when he realized his father had entered the room and as he looked over his shoulder, he saw the man stare at him with a look that could have meant anything. Had he been waiting for him to come home in all this time?  
Chuck turned the water off and it seemed to him it took him forever to find the courage to turn around and face Herc. But he knew that Herc did remember everything clearly, as soon as Chuck looked into his eyes.

"I was drunk." Chuck burst out before Hercules even opened his mouth. It was a spontaneous, aggressive, natural reaction - the need to always have the upper hand on his father. But Hercules didn't reply, he looked down at the floor and crossed his arms, walking across a few tiles and leaning into the kitchen cabinets on the opposite side from where Chuck was. His jaw clenched, Chuck could see the deepening shade even in the dim stove light he had turned on earlier. He wanted to say he was sorry, but apologies always got stuck in his throat, even when he knew he was wrong.  
"You were never drunk in the Drift." Hercules said and as soon as he finished the sentence, Chuck felt cold chills down his spine but he didn't attack his father's words, instead he just gave him the typical look of defiance he always did when they were about to start an argument. An argument would be better, hits and punches, anything rather than his father's controlled, calm tone of voice. "In all this time, did you imagine I didn't see what you were seeing?" Hercules asked him, almost in an admonishing tone, like when Chuck got into fights at school and thought he could hide it from the man. It annoyed him.   
"See what, dad?" he raised his voice a little, on the defense.   
"It's a bit too late to give you explanations about what I'm talking about, Chuck, don't you think?"   
Chuck puffed through his nose and crossed his arms in a similar manner as his father and smirked in frustration, looking away from him. Hercules had that disappointed look on his face, the kind Chuck hated the most to see, because it was always in regards to him.   
"I saw it from the first Drift. How I looked differently in your eyes and how you didn't look at me like I looked at my father or other men I admired and looked up to; it was not hard to see the difference. Women might hide it better, but not men and especially not young boys."  
"I was drunk!" Chuck cut him off "I don't want to talk about this any more than you do so I think you'd be doing us both a favor if you'd go to bed and -"  
"Where exactly in the middle of this discussion did you assume I don't want to talk about it?" Hercules cut him off in turn "I share what you share, remember?" he pointed out, putting his finger to his temple for a second and then pointing it to Chuck "This mind is no stranger to yours and viceversa! You trying to hide things from me just makes everything muddled up. You don't think I still hold on to ghost memories of your own? You don't because, like everything that doesn't suit your needs, you discard it all quickly, even the things, the good things, the good memories I tried to give to you, you did not even offer them a single glance. "  
"Are you in the mood to dig up the past again tonight, old man?" Chuck immediately jumped.   
"I'm trying to see where it all went wrong with... all this! With what's going on in your mind!"  
"There's nothing wrong! There's nothing broken and nothing to fix, just go to bed, you had too much to drink!" Chuck said, walking towards the door, setting himself on slamming it shut but Hercules was much faster, his hand slamming into Chuck's chest, pushing him backwards. He stumbled for a moment and then locked an angry stare with his father. He clenched his teeth and took another step to walk out, this time more determined and his father's hand hit his chest harder than before, clenching his t-shirt for a moment, really pushing him back this time, so hard his back hit the fridge and the magazines on top of it fell across the tiled floor.   
"Don't touch me!" he burst out "Don't push the issue, dad! If there's things you don't want to see, then don't Drift with me anymore, find someone else, you've always been good at Drifting with a whole bunch of other Pilots! Go find someone else and stay the hell out of my mind!" he attacked, unconsciously admitting to everything he had denied moments before. But he was angry, he felt the anger rise out from the frustration and the guilt deep inside his chest and he didn't notice how his voice was shaking as he yelled out the last few words until he saw the look on his father's face mellow and he hated that. He hated when Hercules pitied him, or thought he was weak, because he was not. He stepped ahead and got ready to meet his father's strong arms, which he did, and he pushed them aside, and when they seemed to be coming from everywhere, he pushed into his chest, really wishing he had it in him to just punch his father in the face. It was somewhere in between that thought and the struggle that he gave up, both his arms still up, covering his face. His body naturally fell into his father's, with his arms over his face, pressing onto his father's jacket, the scent of the same cologne the man had been wearing ever since he could remember, wrapping itself around him, in a comfort he did not want to need but knew, god damn it, damn it all to hell, knew he needed so much. Hercules' arms were half around him by that point, then they slid around him slowly, his hands resting on Chuck's shoulders and then on his upper arms, that were over the man's chest and he tried to pry them apart, meeting an expected resistance.

"Chuck..." his father's voice rang closer to his ear than he would have expected. There was no anger in it, no reproach. Chuck didn't want to reply because he knew if he would, his voice would shake and crack and all he wanted was to be out of that room and away from his father but he couldn't find the strength in himself to do so. "Chuck..." he heard again, merely a whisper in his ear. Hercules did not use too much force to pull Chuck's arms apart, he waited until Chuck released the tension and pried them away slowly and patiently, inch by inch without pushing his way into the process more than it was necessary. The last time he had seen Chuck cry was when he was 9 and the last time he had shown any trace of a painful emotion, he had been maybe 10 or 11 but Hercules knew that the way you dealt with a 9 year old crying was not the same way you dealt with his 20 year older self. His son was not crying but he was not far from it either. Hercules put his hands around Chuck's wrists, pulling them down and away from his face and then his hands set themselves on the boy's neck, his thumbs brushing past his jawline once or twice. He wouldn't look at him, but his breathing had become more alert.  
At the same time, Chuck felt himself starting to shake, just a little, an almost imperceptible tremor that felt like an earthquake to him, an earthquake-like tiny force that wouldn't leave his bones.   
"I don't hate you, son. On the contrary. And I'm not here to judge you." Hercules was the first one to speak. And he saw how everything in Chuck's body just wanted to lash out at him for those words, because the boy would have found fault in everything he could have said in that moment. And eventually, as an Elite Jaeger Pilot, as a Kaiju killer, his son finally looked at him, eyes red and blurry with traces of tears he would never admit to and a look of pain and hate in them that Hercules was too familiar with. Chuck had been fighting two wars, Hercules knew because he'd felt it in the Drift, hidden, masked, an overwhelming feeing of loneliness and pain, a war of his own in all those years, one with the Kaiju and one with himself and the truth was that Hercules had been too confused and scared to help him with the latter and in that moment he was the one who felt guilty for not doing anything about it.   
His son was a Kaiju killing machine, hot blooded and arrogant, selfish and condescending and all that left no love in him anymore, except for one tiny spark, forgotten somewhere in a dusty drawer of his mind, which Hercules had discovered during their first Drift. It had been a memory of himself when Chuck was 17 and had returned home from a long stay at the Academy, in that memory, Hercules did not see himself as himself, through his son's eyes, but as a sole object of love and desire and the shock from witnessing that had put them both off balance in the Jaeger. Everyone said it was on Chuck, because it always happened at the first Drift, but Hercules knew it as both of them. As he had hovered next to his son's head over the toilet bowl, wiping his forehead with cold water while he threw up, the love he had for him had increased tenfold, only due to what he felt in his own confronts through Chuck's eyes, through his memories. 

Chuck put his hands on his father's arms, trying to push them along with his hands away from his face, but his attempt was only halfhearted, weak and without any drive at all.   
"Stop looking at me like that." he managed to utter "I don't care what you think."  
But Hercules knew he did and Chuck knew his words really held no value, considering their current situation.  
Hercules leaned in towards him and placed a short kiss on his lips, quick but soft in a way Chuck had never imagined his father could kiss, and Chuck's body froze, taken by surprise. Hercules looked in his eyes the moment after, eyes wide and questioning. But the eyes Chuck was looking into seemed to want to ask: _is this it? Is this the comfort you're looking for?_  
Chuck had no reply for an unasked question, but he was the one who kissed back, tentatively, his eyes open, ready for a defensive reaction that did not come even when their lips touched and he felt his father's beard scratching across his chin. His tongue met the other man's somewhere in the middle of the reluctant kiss, warm. Chuck had imagined that kiss many times but he never figured it would be such a perfect fit, nor that his father's kissing would turn out to be so gentle, so warm and so soft, so different than how you'd expect a man like him to kiss; you'd expect roughness and some amount of pain. Chuck closed his eyes and let himsef fall into it all, his hands releasing the clench they had on Hercules' arms and more resting on them, lazy and lover-like. His mouth encountered no resistance, on the contrary, it was his father who pushed deeper into the kiss, almost hungry, almost demanding more, just as tentatively as Chuck's initial attempt and with every bit that Chuck surrendered, Hercules became more in control of him and Chuck gave him that without a single noise of complaint. 

It was wrong but it did not feel wrong, and surely that wasn't right. 

They stopped for air for a moment and Chuck opened his eyes, staring back into the grey depths of his father's and he thought he had it there, for a second, the validation that what they were doing was not just one sided, that it was not just his father trying to give him what he needed now because he did not give other things to him when he was younger.   
_Something in your eyes loves me._  
"Dad..." it came out from between Chuck's wet lips, merely a whisper, and he had no idea how that had struck Hercules to the core because Chuck had not called him 'dad' in that tone of voice, ever before. Without being condescending, demanding or angry, it was just warm, almost inarticulate and comforting. Hercules pressed his forehead on Chuck's and stayed like that for a moment until his son's gentle "dad..." broke through the silence again. He thought he understood Chuck's worries, their shadows, like ghosts, roamed through his own mind in an almost telepathic manner. Was he doing this because this is what he had always done - gave Chuck everything he demanded, just to keep him grounded and focused? No. But because when you Drifted with someone for so long and reached that level of empathy with them, it was near impossible not to fall in love with them, honestly and without being conceited, even just a little. Just that Chuck loved him more than just a little and it had been near impossible, with the amount of care a father already naturally has towards his son, not to love him back just as much.   
However wrong that was, they couldn't find their way through the maze of what they had uncovered and after he was going to hold onto Chuck for a while longer, let him have his fill, Hercules was going to tell him how he had been fighting against Chuck's own feelings and his own, through the Drift, in and out of it, for the past years. And Chuck won't have to keep on fighting another war, the one with himself, anymore.   
"It's alright." Hercules finally spoke, looking at Chuck, who did not look very convinced of those words. But for once, he was not talking back to him. He kissed his mouth again and then his forehead and that was when Chuck closed his eyes, defeated, and fell into his embrace.


End file.
